


How Does It Feel

by radtoro



Series: Something Stupid [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: (its just weed tho), (jy and js), 80's Music, 90's Music, Alternate Universe, Based in New York, Beta(fanfic editor)!Jinyoung, Chef!Jackson, Drinking, Eleanor & Park references, Gay Drama, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hipster!Bambam, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Karaoke, M/M, Music Snob!Jaebum, Roommates, Stoner!Mark, jinyoung's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 22:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15277782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radtoro/pseuds/radtoro
Summary: “When I look back at Jackson, he understands. He knows that I mean what I say, but he also knows the other half of it, the B-side of nearly everything I say. He covers anything else he might feel with a carefree smile and a nod of acceptance, even his eyes acting. It doesn’t surprise me anymore to know these things about him, that he knows the same about me. I’m starting to think that maybe we shouldn’t.”If you haven't read the first two installments, please do! A lot of this won't make sense otherwise.[ 3 / 6 ]





	How Does It Feel

**Author's Note:**

> This one is in Jinyoung's POV!! The next one will be, too. There were just too many things that had to be felt from his perspective!
> 
> Here's a playlist if the songs they perform in the bar: [ [x](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQe0yf5dcJLxcTdmdSHIW-ojOBU6B1PHU) ] (and I'm sorry if you're under 18 for the D'angelo vid. Eyes, Nose, Lips by Taeyang, Girls/Girls/Boys by Panic!, and Gentleman by Gallant were all inspired by the video. So use your imagination ;D)
> 
> And here is a playlist I made for Jaebum in this fic. I'm still adding to it, and if you have any you can reccomend, please, please do!! Theyre songs that I think he'd listen to, both in-fic and irl: [ [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/m91g6zc9ketablz9r4by0m7is/playlist/5Am4l0lsS9SKh22pd8TMsk?si=7gSF24HfT8uqQsF7syoyew) ]
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! This ones a long one, so cozy up and listen along ^__^

_You don’t feel committed to the universe. The characters float around in their emotions, effectively sabotaging your plot._ I lean back in my chair, fingers resting on the keys, staring at the blinking indicator in Gmail. I hit enter twice. The sound of the office fades back into my conscious, dull, sleepy, and airy. It smells like plastic carpet and old coffee that has about seven packets of Sweet-N-Low in it, but strangely, it makes me crave a cup. I resettle my hands on my laptop's keyboard. _And no one likes an unhappy ending, even you. Admit it. Give Louis a chance to be happy._

Muffled footsteps shake the cheap floor, making ripples all the way to the edge of my cubicle. “Hey, there.”

I startle, fingers pressing a mass of gibberish into the email, then I swivel in my chair. Jaebum’s forehead peeks over the wall of my cubicle, eyes smiling and mischievous. They turn into little crescent moons when he grins, when he’s really pleased with himself. I don’t want to know what his mouth is doing, but whatever it is, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off it if it were visible.  
  
My lips curve into a little smile, beckoning him closer. “Hey yourself.” I minimize the browser window before looking back at him. He’s rounded the wall now, grinning, but it’s just flirtatious. (“Just.”)

“I’m about to go, I just wanted to stop by before I left.” He takes a step, goes to place a hand below my ear, but I grab it and push it away, wary eyes searching for our supervisor. He clasps my hand with both of his. “So careful...” He _tsk_ s, shaking his head. He grins, strokes my cheek with his knuckle so gently that I'm sure all he feels is my stubble. “I already checked. Why are you so nervous?”

I laugh once, all air. There are too many answers to his question, things I could say that are so romantic that he’d steal a kiss, or so sexy that he’d have to have me _right here and now_ , but now isn’t the place or time. I plant my free hand over his on my cheek and say, “That tickles.”

Jaebum laughs, and while he looks endeared, I’m not sure that’s what I wanted to go for. But we’re at work; it’ll have to do. He pulls his hands back and leans on my desk, looking down at me coolly with his arms crossed. “You got your costume for tonight?”

I smile and nod, tight-lipped. There’s a Halloween event tonight at his favorite karaoke bar, the one he told me about on the night I blurted out a phrase I didn’t mean, with a costume contest and everything. He had asked me to come earlier in the week, and as an afterthought, extended the invitation to Jackson. “I, uh,” I say, “I just need to pick up the jacket.”

He nods. “Cool. And Jackson?”

“He’s got something planned.”

“Oh!” Jaebum snaps and points at me. “I think I found a date for him after all.”

“That’s great,” I say. “I was really worried he’d feel like a third wheel.” I nod, happy to think about Jackson being happy. “I’ll tell him when I get home.”

Jaebum nods, head down, chin tucked to his chest, then he sets his eyes on me without turning his head, one brow raised just slightly, dead sexy. “I think my costume is really going to surprise you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, really, now?” I fold my arms. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely in a good way.” He grins, stands from leaning on my desk, and circles me like prey. I feel his hand run across my back, warm and solid, from one shoulder, edging over to my spine, and up to the nape of my neck on the other side. It’s everything I can do not to shiver under his touch.  
  
“Then I look forward to it.” I look up at him through my eyelashes, lips parted, leaning in to his side.

His smile drops slowly as the mood in his eyes changes. He squeezes the soft bit of flesh under his hand, lowers his voice, says, “Do you know how crazy you make me?”

I give him an enticing grin as I lean out of his reach. “I have an inkling.” I turn back to my laptop, then look over my shoulder at him. “See you tonight, Jaebum.”

He bites his lip so hard that the skin around it turns white. “Yeah.” He takes a step back, nearly bumps into the wall of my cubicle, but just turns to miss it. “Yeah.” And he’s off, the top of his head sinking out of view below the lip of the wall.

I chuckle to myself and shake my head. It’s good to see him flustered. Jackson thinks Jaebum is arrogant, that he needs to be taken down a peg--and although his confidence is one of the things I find attractive about him--to a certain extent, I agree. Deflating his ego is one of the ways I flirt with him, and this scene at my cubicle is how I do it; making him hot and bothered right when he thinks he has the upper hand, always leaving him wanting more.

It occurs to me as I open my email back up that I didn’t ask about who Jaebum had convinced to be Jackson’s date. I at least know it was between two guys--someone lanky but well-dressed or a guy that’s cute but unintelligent. I just hope that whoever it is, Jackson likes him. His enjoyment of the night is just as important as mine.

I delete the key smash from the text box of the email, then finish composing it. It’s just a quick critical reading, but from a Wattpad author, and they tend to be a bit... pushy. However, they’re not nearly as bad as LiveJournal writers used to be. Thankfully, that is a time long since passed--a time of emo poems and Warped Tour ship fests, of flip phone selfies and The Game. I remember it like it was yesterday, a yesterday that I never wish to return to. AO3 is my preferred platform for fanfiction, it being the underdog in the Big Three fanfic sites (you know the other two: FFN and Wattpad). But, an editor’s gotta work. I take anything that needs my help, for no charge except a dedication.

It was different when I first started beta-ing, not only for the community of fanfiction, but for how I did it. I’d get so picky, want a plot outline, drabbles, and I wouldn’t do it for anyone who had written less than ten completed works. Now, if a young writer wants a beta, I help them, because I know I can influence them for the better, even possibly (on the rare occasion) nurture a good story into a breathtaking one. There’s a community here for a reason, and I want to live up to old standards.

Once I’ve gotten my point across, I send off the email and switch back to work. I’ve long since been beta-ing between workloads, even though I know that I shouldn’t, but no one bats an eyelash when they walk by. A Word Document looks like a Word Document, no matter if it’s Stucky post- _Civil War_ or a review for _Infinity War_.

Once I clock out, I text Jackson, just to remind him about tonight. Not that I think he’s forgotten, or that he’ll bail, but he’s a softy at his core and will take an extra shift for anyone who so much as thinks about asking him to. I know from experience that he’ll text me last minute to cancel if something comes up. But it’s hard to imagine he really minds. As often as he comes home complaining of sore feet, he loves his job more than anything else. Sometimes, I think, he loves it to the point where he'll hurt himself.

I wonder what it’s like to love doing something that much? Because, sure, I love editing, and the job I have is one I’ve waited years for, but I don’t sit down at my laptop every day with a smile on my face. Some days, I come home so tired that I can’t even beta. And I love fanfiction, but it’s too taboo to be passionate about, even as a casual hobby. Jackson, however, he wakes up on a _Saturday_ , cooks breakfast with a smile on his face, then goes to work to cook some more, and gets home ten hours later still smiling. Is that passion? How can he love _doing_ something so much when the happiest I get is when Person A’s interest is _piqued_ , not _peaked_?

Sighing, I settle into a seat on the subway. I think about this too much. When I was a kid, I always thought I would move to the city, have the job I have, and have about three boys on each arm. But the truth still shakes me up: Adulthood leaves me with a lot more questions than answers, many more doubts than assurances.

I get home before Jackson does, as per usual. He works lunch and dinner hours Thursday through Sunday and the rest of the week as he’s needed, occasionally staying until the Whole Foods closes. I have the perfect nine-to-five, weekends and holidays off unless there’s a big project. When we first moved in together, I thought we’d never see each other, especially considering our old jobs (café and retail). But now, it’s second nature; I get home, sleep like a log until he gets home, we get ready together, and then we hit the gay bar (and this is not exclusive to weekends, either). And tonight would be no different if it weren’t for:

  1. Jaebum and Jackson meeting on a boyfriend-to-best-friend basis.
  2. The fact that it’s a karaoke bar.
  3. The costume.



Everything is uncharted waters.

 

 

Jackson is on the couch, staring at me, when I step out of the bathroom. “Oh,” I say, then let out a laugh of surprise. “Hey.” I brush wet hair out of my face while gripping where I've tucked the towel around my waist. “When did you get home?” I ask, then stiffen. I look around for evidence of how long ago he got here because if he’s been sitting there for any longer than a minute, he heard me singing in the shower.

Jackson clears his throat. “Uh, just a second ago.” He gestures in a lazy point to the front door, then nods at me as I walk down the hallway. “You getting ready?”

I sigh. “Yeah. But the costume place called.” I lean my hands on the arm of the couch. “Someone else offered on the jacket, so...” I shake my head, droplets from my hair flying across the cushions. Jackson wipes his arm off. “I'm out of luck unless I wanna pay over two hundred bucks for it, which--ugh.” I hang my head. “Which I _really_ don’t want to have to do.”

“Hey.” He places a hand on my shoulder, then takes it back and dries it on his pants. “You don't need some expensive jacket! I told you already, you could come up with a great costume from your own closet.”

I scrunch my brows and cheeks up. “Isn’t that going to make me seem cheap? Jaebum said his costume would really surprise me. Shouldn’t I try to do the same?”

Jackson shakes his head. “You can still do that, we just have to get creative. Come on.” He stands and drags me into my own room. He throws open the doors to my closet, then starts shuffling through. It's immaculately organized, sectioned off by formal, casual, and work with the appropriate shoes laid underneath. He rifles through the formal stuff haphazardly.

I fold my arms, watching him from the center of my room. “I can't go for subtly here, Jackson, so if you're thinking _Men in Black_ , stop right now.”

He sighs but pulls out my black tuxedo anyway. “What _I_ think we should do is pick out the outfits you look best in and then think of something they could be from.” He lays the suit pieces on my bed and puts his hands on his waist triumphantly.

I plant my fists on my hips, squinting at him. “Fine. Just let me get dressed first.”

He shrugs and holds his hands up, walking out the door. “Hurry though, we have less than an hour before we need to leave!”

“Don’t remind me,” I sigh, then shut the door behind him.

I finish drying off, and as I dress, I eye the tux. I _do_ get lucky every time I wear it, even when I went to my sister’s wedding...

I open my door and lean in the frame. “I shouldn’t wear the tux,” I say. “...Should I?”

Jackson shrugs, bottom lip curving out. “Why not? You look good in it.”

I sigh and close my eyes. “But is that the point?”

His shoulders droop with an exhale. “Look. What is this, your third date with him?” He pockets his phone and pushes past me into my room.

“Fourth if you count my fuck-up.” Arms folded, I stay leaning on the door frame.

Jackson returns to the closet, flipping through it like it’s his own. “I thought you weren’t.”

“We agreed not to count it,” I say, “but I can’t help but to.” I shrug, eyes down, feeling a sick pool of embarrassment and regret bubble back up in my stomach. “Sometimes I feel like he’s waiting for me to say it again, and if I’m honest... I kind of am too.” I look up and nudge my chin towards Jackson. “That’s why you’ve gotta watch me tonight. Don’t let me have more than two drinks, and definitely don’t let anyone talk me into hard liquor.”

He nods, considers it, then grins at me. “No promises.”

I step over and shove him. “I mean it. I at least wanna have him before I say something like that again.”

His mouth closes, expression suddenly serious. He nods. “Yeah. I’ll watch you.”

I sit on the bed with a sigh, fists planted on either side of me. “But, yeah. Third date.”

He clears his throat, regaining his chipper attitude. “Then you want to have a good-looking outfit, not a good-looking costume.” He plucks a pair of pants from the casual section and drapes them over his arm. “Especially with a guy like Jaebum. He wants something pretty on his arm, not something scary.”

“It’s not that I want something scary,” I say, then I hear what he said. I don’t mean to sound defensive, but it comes out that way regardless. “What do you mean ‘a guy like Jaebum?’ He’s a good guy.”

He sighs. “I didn’t say he was a bad guy.” He throws another shirt over his arm. “I’m just saying... Oh, what’s the word...?” He rests a hand on a hanger and looks off in search for the right phrase. I taught him to do that when we first met, to pause instead of stumbling over broken English. Usually, it’s endearing when he can’t find the right words, but we both know it can get him into trouble, and even _I_ haven’t been the most patient at the best of times.

“He,” Jackson stutters, then trails off. His head dips, then lifts when he’s got it. “He likes to _show off_ , that’s all.” He nods, proud of himself, grabbing a pair of pants in victory. “He’s taking you to a place where he’s a regular, people know him there, and if he’s anything like you say he is, then he’s told people about you. He wants to _show you off_ , wants to hold you up like in _The Lion King_ and say ‘Look what I got.’”

“You have a point... But that solves nothing.”

He tosses the armful of clothes at me. They roll out of my lap and onto the floor. “Then get off your ass and let's work.”

I roll my eyes and pick up the garments, then we lay them out on the bed, spread out and plain to see like a Tetris screen.

“So!” He brushes off his hands and admires our handiwork. “What do we have?”

“Um,” I say. “My suit, and a few other Sunday bests.”

Jackson claps with each syllable: “ _But who do you see_?” He gestures to a white button-up. “This shirt could be _Risky Business_ if you skip the pants--or could be the counterpart to a spy costume.”

“What did I say about _Men in Black_?”

“I didn’t say _Men in Black_ , I said, _spy_.” He taps his ear. “Listen to me. You could be an assassin too, we just need the right accessories.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not wearing my tux. It’s too warm out.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine, now we have less to work with.” He moves all the pieces aside. “And you obviously don’t wanna work with movies, so...”

I sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to do movies, it’s just that...” I exhale. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? Like, someone else is going to be dressed up as that too, right? I don’t want to be forced into a group shot with three other Tom Cruises.”

Jackson grins, then giggles. “Alright, then.” He takes a step back and strokes his chin. “...What book character do you see in here?”

“Jesus, I don’t know.” I sigh and brush the hair away from my forehead. I need to blow-dry it soon if I want it to have any volume.

“What about the one that you made me read last year, the one with that red head and the punk?”

“ _Eleanor & Park_?”

He points at me. “Yes! You could go as grown-up Park, wear these jeans, put on some eye-liner...” He pulls the pants to the edge of the bed, then lifts his head and cocks it at me. “Did he have a coat? The one that Eleanor sniffs?”

“Yeah, after the fight,” I say, smiling even though I’m trying not to. “It was a trench coat. It smelled like Irish spring and boy.”

Jackson grabs my wrist and gasps. “Yes! I have one in the back of my closet, and it’s not warm at all, that’s why I shoved it back there. And we could find a band t-shirt between the two of us, right?”

I seal my lips but my cheeks still puff out with laughter, unable to contain a smile at his enthusiasm. “You might be more excited about this than I am.”

He smiles, tilting his head. “No, you’re excited. I can tell.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders, strong and solid, and he smells like sesame and his cologne and _him_. He sticks his smile in my face, nose almost pressed against mine. It makes me feel warm, and it crosses my mind that his friendship one-of-a-kind, that _he’s_ one-of-a-kind.

I push him away. “I’d rather have a ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ shirt.”  
  
He sighs. “Do you want a costume or not?”

I run a hand through my hair. It’s dry at the ends already, and my hands itch to get to the hair dryer. “Yeah. Okay.” I go towards the door, to go to the bathroom, but stop, hand on the doorframe. “Thanks.”

He waves me away. “We need a shirt before you can say that.” He jogs past me, calls over his shoulder as he speeds through the living room, “I’ll check my closet and then call Mark!”

 

 

“What were you singing in the shower earlier?” Jackson asks, loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the subway. He never hesitates to shout or squeal or over-step a wordless rule. The first time I ever rode public transport with him, I was so embarrassed--he was talking about the cats he’d met that day so loudly that I knew everyone could hear, and he didn’t seem to care at all. His accent was also much thicker back then, and I was embarrassed on his behalf for that, as well, but he didn’t seem to care--still doesn’t--and never gets the hint when I speak in a lower volume or mumble. Most of the time, now, I accept it. There have been weirder things on the subway.

This, however, is one of the times I wish he had a volume dial. I grit my teeth and look away from him, glancing around to see how many people are looking at us. I lean over so that only he can hear me. “I thought you said you didn’t hear me.”

He grins, and at normal volume says, “I never said that.” He leans on the pole we’re gripping, cheek squished against his own fist, his stomach soft over my knuckles.

I exhale through my nose, lips pursed, keeping myself from punching him in a public space.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” I feel his elbow hook around mine and the weight of his torso as he leans away from the pole and into me. “It sounded good. _You_ sounded good.” He tries to lean into my vision, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. He huffs and steps back, but leaves his wrist curled around my elbow. “I just wanted to know if it was that YouTuber girl you watch.”

“Tessa Violet?” I ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “Was it?”

“No.” At the memory of the melody, I smile. “It was something Jaebum sang to me.”

“Oh,” he says, volume finally turning down. “The one from the voicemail? Or did he serenade you today from outside the walls of your cubicle?”

My hand instinctively raises to smack him on the arm, but I stop myself. There’s a child and her mom a few poles down in the car. I brush off Jackson’s sleeve. “You better _fucking_ stop,” I whisper through my teeth.

“Stop what?” he stage-whispers, then unhooks his elbow from mine to fold his arms.

“Stop poking fun at Jaebum,” I say. “I really like him, and no matter how many times you tease me about him, it’s not going to get funnier.” I pluck one of his hands from the crook of his arm and put it back on the hand hold.

Jackson opens his mouth to say something, and I can tell it’s sassy by the tilt of his head, but his phone sounds off in his pocket. Saved by the bell. He pulls it out, and once he reads it, his face turns stone.

“What is it?” I nod to it, and when he doesn’t answer, I lean over to read it. He locks it and puts it back in his pocket before I can see it.

“Nothing.” He meets my frown with a smile. “Mark’s just invited himself to come tonight.”  
  
My shoulders slump and I groan. “Jackson...”

“Look, I know you don’t like Mark...”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” I say, lips curving down, “it’s just that I have a... _distaste_ for stoners, and” I exhale “you know I don’t get along with straight guys. And Mark doesn’t talk unless you work for it.” I glance away and crinkle half of my nose. “Does that equate to not liking someone?”

Jackson shrugs. “Didn’t you want to make it a double-date? So you wouldn’t have to worry about a third wheel?” He pointedly looks out the subway window, and by hell if he thinks I didn’t catch the salt in his voice.

And then I remember. Jaebum’s guy.

“Oh, shit...” I wince.

He looks back at me, eyes widening when he sees my face. “What?”

“Jaebum found someone,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I forget to tell you.”

“Oh, great,” he says. “Now someone is going to _fifth_ wheel, and it’s going to be the guy that lets me smoke his weed for free.”

“No,” I say, “just tell Mark not to come.”

“How am I going to do that? He’s got the shirt you wanted for Park.”

The cart halts and we brace for it, staring each other down. His lips are parted slightly, ready to rebut anything I say. I stay quiet as people file in and around and about us, another man now sharing the pole we grip.

“I can’t tell Jaebum’s guy to go home,” I say. “And I won’t ask Jaebum to do it.”

“And I won’t tell Mark to go home after he’s gone out of his way on a workday do to a favor for me.”

I glare at him and grit my jaw. “Fine.”

Jackson glances at me up and down. “Fine.”

The man who just got on the subway switches hand grips, side-eyeing us. Asshole.

Jackson clicks his tongue, eyeing the guy back. “Asshole.” He turns his back to him.

I laugh once through my nose. We really have been living together too long, haven’t we? It scares me sometimes, at times like this, when even though I’m mad at him, he still makes me smile without trying. It makes me wonder if anyone else will be able to do that, if Jackson’s spoiled every other guy for me at the same time it makes me love him even more. Ultimately, if Jackson is in my life for the rest of it, I won’t have a complaint in the world. In fact, I’d be upset if he wasn’t.

He makes a noise of question at me, looking pensive but not aggressive.

“Nothing,” I mumble, shaking my head and smiling.

Curious but apprehensive, he smiles back. “No, what made you laugh?” His grin suddenly drops. “Don’t say it was my accent. I’ll kill you if you were laughing at my accent.”

“No, no,” I say. “You barely have an accent anymore.”

He smiles wide. “I know. I’ve worked so hard on it. But don’t change the subject.”

I frown. He knows me too well. “It was seriously nothing.”

He shoves my shoulder, then the subway halts, so he grabs my sleeve and pulls me to his chest. I catch myself, but don’t pull away from him.

“This is why people always think we’re dating,” I say, then brush his hand off. I step closer to make room for new passengers.

“Is that such a bad thing?” he asks, voice the quietest I’ve ever heard him speak in on the subway. It’s low, the vibration from his chest seeping into my shoulder, and it would be sexy if his accent weren’t so damn cute, the poor thing. His eyes are as dark and sweet as they’ve always been, a glint of something like anticipation behind them. That’s how I know he’s joking.

I do punch him this time. “It is, you flirt. You’re meeting my boyfriend tonight.”

 

 

The bar is surprisingly quiet. The bouncer doesn’t bat an eyelash when Jackson shows his out-of-country passport instead of a driver’s license, which is the first time that’s happened in a while. It’s not particularly surprising, though, since the bar is in the heart of Koreatown. Jackson huffs at the fact that Jaebum hasn’t met us outside, but he texted me a few minutes earlier saying that he went ahead and grabbed a table, since it’ll be pretty packed later on. I know that he’ll have picked something close to the stage, so that we can see each other when one of us is singing, so that’s where I look. Everyone in the bar is dressed up in some fashion, even the bartenders. There are a fair few that are well-done, but the rest are store-bought, slutty, and half-assed at best. Old Halloween classics blast from old speakers and shake the floor, making me dread to think of how many times I might hear renditions of _Thriller_ tonight.

Jackson leans close to speak, hand on my arm. “Jesus,” he says. “That guy really went all-out, didn’t he?”

I glance at him, then over to where he nods. Ahead of us a couple tables are two guys--one dressed as Thor, in full plastic garb, Mjolnir hanging from his wrist and bright wig crooked and greasy-looking in its falsity, which is a stark contrast to the man next to him. He wears no shirt, his back is muscled, arms and shoulders toned to match, and only a thin golden chain visible around the back of his neck. He turns his head and I find myself anticipating it, hoping that he’s ugly so that I won’t have to explain to Jaebum why I was compelled to flirt with another man when I should’ve been searching for him.

My jaw drops. The man smiles, teeth white and big and eyes pleased little crescent moons.

I smile, incredulous, so ready to feel his muscles under my hands. Jackson scoffs next to me. “Jaebum...!”

“Hey!” He waves us over, then tells Thor something.

“Oh, don’t tell me the Thor is _my_ date,” Jackson whines as we approach. I pretend it gets lost in the noise of the bar.

My eyes are eating up Jaebum’s image like it’ll disappear, like they’ve been starved (which up until this point, may as well have been). His skin is glowing, his smile is beaming, and he’s so gorgeous that I don’t question why he’s half naked in a karaoke bar. I reach out to touch him, to quench my thirst just a bit. He grabs my hand. I raise my eyebrows, leaning back.

“I’m covered in oil,” he says. “Sorry.”

I smile, giving him another once-over, _so hungry_. Shaking my head, I say, “That’s okay.”

He kisses just outside my mouth, then addresses Jackson. “Hey, man. Good to see ya.”

“What the hell are you dressed as?” Jackson asks. I can tell he’s offended by Jaebum’s appearance, but he covers it with a smile, pretending for everyone else’s sake that he’s only teasing. “Isn’t that public nudity?” He shakes hands with Jaebum, and they laugh.

“He won’t get arrested with a body _that_ nice.” Thor rolls his eyes, closing his phone and turning to face us.

“I’m D’Angelo from _Untitled (How Does It Feel)_ ,” Jaebum says. “And this is Bambam. Bambam, this is Jackson.”

Bambam leans out of his chair to offer a handshake. Jackson accepts, smiling politely.

We all sit down, Jaebum keeping his chair close, my hand automatically going to rest on his thigh.

“You look good, babe,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Do you even know what I’m dressed as?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You look so good that I think you spoiled the original, anyway.”

I grin, squeezing his thigh, satisfied by the firm shape of it under my fingers. He returns the smile, hand over mine, gaze deep and _delectable_. He’s killing me right now looking like this.

Jackson’s voice cuts back into my consciousness. “...No, I’m a Japanese sushi chef.” He gestures to his chef’s shirt, pristine even though he worked in it all day. Bambam nods in recognition.

Jaebum’s eyebrow quirks and he turns to address him. “So, you just...” Jaebum glances his attire up and down, almost frowning and nose sporting a hint of crinkle. “You just wore your work uniform?”

“Uh,” he says, “mostly, yeah. But I’m dressed as a _Japanese_ sushi chef, and I’m from _China_. That’s, uh, that’s where the joke is.” He taps on the Japan flag bandana tied around his forehead that he borrowed from a co-worker.

Jaebum squints at him, obviously displeased. “Ah.”

Bambam laughs. “I, uh, I get it. That’s funny.”

Eyes closed, Jackson takes a breath. “Who wants drinks?” He stands, making the low-budget aluminum table tilt when he pushes on it.

Jaebum asks for a beer and Bambam follows suit, then I politely tell him to get me a water.

He slides a hand over my shoulder and squeezes. “Hey, one won’t send you over the edge.” He takes his hand back and points at me. “I’m getting you vodka and cranberry. Don’t pretend you won’t drink it.” And with a wink, he’s off.

Jaebum raises his eyebrows, smile forming on his lips, but says nothing.

Bambam clears his throat and asks, “So, when does the singing start?”

“About eight-thirty,” Jaebum says. “That’s at least when they’ll start taking admissions for the contest.” He turns to me. “Are you gonna enter?”

I shake my head. “No one will know what I am, anyway.”

Jaebum nods empathetically but doesn’t convince me of it. Jackson comes back a minute later with all the drinks tucked between his fingers, and once he’s set them down, he turns around and gives the bartender a thumbs-up.

“He didn’t think I could carry it all by myself,” he says, sorting the drinks to everyone. “But I’m in the service industry; I don’t need a tray to carry a couple bottles of beer.” He sits down, takes a big sip from his tall, martini-like glass, then mulls over the taste.

“My God, you let Danny convince you to try his ghost drink?” Jaebum laughs once, then takes a swig of his own beer.

“Hey, a chef’s specialty is a chef’s specialty,” Jackson says. “When I try new things at _my_ bar and people ask for it, I know it makes me feel good.” He takes another sip, brows high and eyes elsewhere.

When Bambam asks about Jackson’s job, Jaebum loses interest immediately. He turns to me and says, “You better go put in a request for a song if you want to get up there before ten.”

“Before ten? Jesus.” I sip from my glass, ransacking my mind for a subject change. “You really think it’s gonna be that full tonight? Even with the contest?”

“Yeah, that’s how it is during events. People don’t come here just to sit and watch.” He lifts his bottle from the table, but before he sips, says, “Don’t think for a second that I’m letting you get away with that. You’re singing tonight.”

I exhale. “I told you, I’m not a singer.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Everybody sings.”

Then, the owner of the bar waltzes up on stage, dressed as Beetlejuice no less, and sets out the rules for the contest, tells the crowd where to sign up. He then proceeds to warm up the crowd by doing some karaoke to the _Ghostbusters_ theme. I shout with the rest of the crowd who we gonna call, imagining myself up there, making my stomach turn into a jumbled, buzzing mess. Jaebum claps along beside me, feeling the song and smiling when the owner hits the notes right and dances in the vocal breaks.

Jackson and Bambam make small talk to get to know each other, slow conversation that I tune in and out of. The skinny Thor is a sales associate at an advertising company, owns three cats, and makes Jackson go through his spiel about being Chinese when he inquires about his accent.

Once the song ends, Jaebum stands and grabs my hand. “Here,” he says, “I want you to meet my friends here.”

“Oh, okay.” Jaebum pulls me away before I can even grab my drink.

He guides me around the whole place, parting the masses like the Red Sea. People gawk at him and therefore me, which is as thrilling as it is anxiety-inducing; makes me feel as special next to him as it makes me feel plainer. I’m introduced to all the bartenders, who go on about how much he goes on about me, then quickly shown off to anyone that says ‘hi.’ He stops by to enter the contest and is heavily flirted with by the woman at the table, even after Jaebum introduces me, then he heads to the KJ’s booth to request a song. Once he’s picked his out and entered it, he pulls me closer and scrolls through the digital booklet.

“Now, what would you like to sing?” he asks. “Something soft? Something to dance to? Something from the 90’s?” He taps the down button again and again. “They have over a hundred thousand in the database. Name anything.”

I wince and pull my head away. “I don’t know...”

“We can do a duet,” he offers. “Didn’t I say we’d do that?” He re-sorts the list. “How about _Grease_? That’s a crowd pleaser.”

“I don’t know if I’ll remember the words to anything from Grease.” I brush the hair back off my forehead and shake it out.

“Okay...” He scrolls some more. “How about _The Girl Is Mine_? Paul McCartney and Michael?”

I hum and wrinkle my nose. “What about _Say Say Say_?” I point at it on the screen.

“That’s kind of advanced,” he says, then looks back at me. “You’re sure?”

I shrug, fiddling with my ear. “I mean, if you don’t want to do it.”

He grins. “No, I like it. It’s ambitious.” He selects it and sends it in. “Karaoke brings that side out in people.” He smiles over his (glistening) shoulder at me, then we head back to the table. We find Jackson and Bambam are both on their phones, looking about as interested in each other as they are in karaoke. I lean over Jackson, tilting the table when I plant my hand on it. He clicks his phone shut immediately.

“Mark’s not here yet?” I ask.

Jackson shakes his head. “He said he’d rather get high at home, since you seem fine without the shirt.”

I smile with my lips tucked in. “Tell him thanks anyway.”

He raises his phone and shakes it as he finishes off his drink. “Already did.” He stands, then wraps an arm around me only to pass by. “Gonna go see what songs they have.”

Jaebum and I sit down, chairs still close enough that our knees touch. Jaebum watches Jackson walk off, chin flush to his shoulder and eyes stretching as he disappears into the crowd. His jaw shifts, grits, and then he fixes his attention to me.

“You guys are close, huh?” he asks, jaw crooked and voice borderline accusing. I pretend it’s an innocent question.

“Yes, we are.” I sip my drink. “He’s my best friend. We’re practically brothers--two halves of the same soul.”

Jaebum crinkles his nose. “You believe in that stuff? Soulmates and crap?” He takes a swig.

I exhale, not letting myself get too defensive. “To an extent, yes. I think things happen for a reason.”

Jaebum shrugs, lips closed around his bottle and drinking.

“He’s my brother,” I say again. “He’s my chosen family.”

He raises a hand, defensive. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ nothin’, it’s just that...” He frowns, shrugging a shoulder. “Brothers aren’t that _touchy_ with each other, are they?”

I exhale sharply. “If you knew Jackson, you’d know that’s how he is.” I turn away, pointedly looking away, holding my knees together so that we’re not touching.

“Hey, who killed the party over here?” Jackson says, cheery as always, slipping right back into his seat. “Isn’t this supposed to be a date?” He folds his arms and rests his elbows on the table, laugh high and breathless.

The owner of the club announces Jaebum from the stage, making him stand and jog to the stage without more than a tight smile. Once he’s up there, women ‘woop!’ at his appearance. He grins and takes the mic.

Jackson touches my arm almost as soon as he’s gone. I stiffen under his hand, knowing that Jaebum can still see us if he wants to. Something about it makes me furious.

_This is why people always think we’re dating._

“Yeah,” I whisper. “We’re good.”

Jackson’s brow is twisted up in worry, eyes big and understanding and trying to read mine like a browsing history page. His expression hardens when he glances at Jaebum, who swings his arms as he waits for the vocal cue. I push Jackson’s hand off my arm.

“Stop worrying,” I say. “It’s fine.”

Jackson relents hesitantly, folding his arms in a way that suggests he’ll be hounding me about what happened on the ride home. I ignore it.

Jaebum takes up the whole stage, singing the song that he’s dressed as, eyes closed as he focuses on the notes he’s hitting. To watch him sing is something beautiful and to hear it is something beyond. He moves to the beat in slow, smooth waves, showing off his perfect body. I cheer for him with the rest of the patrons. Once he’s done a few vocal runs and hears me cheer some more, he opens his eyes only to wink at me and keep on.

He finishes strong on the fade out, then receives a great amount of applause. The owner of the bar comes back on stage adjusting his collar and fanning himself. He gives Jaebum a pat on the back as he exits the stage. Back at the table, he beams with pride, and as he sits down, he asks, “How was it?”

“So good,” I say, eyes still drinking him up. “So, so good.”

“Yeah, man, I think the whole bar wants you,” Bambam says with a laugh.

Jackson nods and nods. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” Jaebum grabs my hand under the table, saying just to me, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say.

He leans close, says into my ear, “Knowing you were out here watching me, listening, your eyes all over me...” His lips brushes against my ear, making my hair stand on end. “You did _everything_.”

“Hey, JB,” Bambam says, laughter in his voice. “Do they have _Mr. Brightside_ in the database?”

Jaebum exhales, slowly turning to face his friend. “Yeah, I think they do. Why? Is that what you’re gonna do?”

Bambam grins and nods. “Oh, yeah.” He takes a swig from his bottle.

Jaebum nudges his chin at Jackson. “What about you? What did you pick?”

“Uh, _No Diggity_.” He smiles toothlessly with a nod.

“Ah, nice!” I pat him on the shoulder. He sang that for a week straight after I showed it to him for the first time, looked up the lyrics constantly.

Jaebum dips his head, small smile rounding out his cheeks. “Good choice.”

Bambam excuses himself to go request his slot. Once he’s disappeared past the wall of people surrounding the KJ, I ask, “So how long have you two known each other?”

“Since college,” Jaebum says. “He joined a club I was the president of.” He gestures between me and Jackson. “How about you guys? When did you become roommates?”

“After college,” I say. “We both needed someone to share rent with--it just worked out perfectly.”

Jackson laughs once. “He needed me more than he’ll admit.” He places his hand over mine. “He was such a baby when we met, a virgin to the city. _Him_ , the native New Yorker.” He and Jaebum laugh.

I tilt my head, voice raising in defense. “What are you saying about me?”

“No, it’s just that, the first time we did laundry together--do you remember?--you were taking jeans out the dryer, and” he turns to Jaebum, “like I said, he was a baby. He didn’t even know to check his pockets before washing his pants! So when the load was done, there were a bunch of coins in the bottom, and he reached in there like it was nothing. But the dryer had just gone off, so they were hot!” Jackson leans forward and giggles, then grabs my hand and forces it open on the table. “I think he still has the burn marks.” He traces his finger around my palm for second, squinting at it in the poor lighting. I pull it back.

“I’m not the only one who’s made mistakes since moving to the city.” I look to Jaebum. “One time, he came home with a Walgreens bag _full_ of makeup because he got distracted looking for Q-Tips and the cosmetics woman told him everything was his color.”

Jaebum snickers and Jackson gasps. “She didn’t lie to me! All of it would’ve looked good on me... If I knew how to use it!”

I can only laugh, and soon enough, he joins us. Jackson grabs my hand again and presses kiss to the back of it, rubbing the inside of my wrist and forearm. “I’m sorry I laughed at your burns. Both now and when it happened.”

I snatch my hand away. “Are you drunk already?”

Jackson frowns, sticking his bottom lip out and holding his hand like it’s sore. Jaebum glances at him with an unreadable expression.

Bambam sits back down at the table a song later. For a while, we just watch people performing. A good amount of them sing in what I think is Korean, while the rest are in English, apart from one woman who does one in Spanish, dancing the entire time. By the time they call Jaebum’s name again, I’ve nearly forgotten about being up there myself.

Jaebum grabs my hand and squeezes it, smiling so big that I can see almost all his teeth. My stomach drops. “After I go, we’re on.” Then, he jogs to the stage, takes the mic, and commands the stage like he owns it.

Jackson smiles at me sweetly, borderline pityingly, leaning his cheek on his fist. “Are you nervous?”

I only give him a look, wanting him to fuck right off.

He shrugs innocently. “I just thought you’d need encouragement.” I keep my eyes on Jaebum, frowning. Jackson pats my arm. “Hey, you can sing!”

I sigh. “Not next to him.” I gesture to the stage. “I don’t know why I agreed to doing it with him. He’s only going to make me look like a fool up there.”

Jackson clicks his tongue, backhanding my arm. “Hey, that’s not true. Just get up there and sing like you do in the shower.” He grins, lets it well up until he laughs. I push his arm away from me. “What are you singing, anyway?” Once I tell him, he furrows his eyebrows. “Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson did songs together?”

I laugh. “Yeah. And they were only some of the greatest songs in the history of music.”

“Huh.” Jackson nods with his lip out, then we watch Jaebum finish his song.

The KJ announces my and Jaebum’s names, Jaebum grinning and waving me up. I stand, turning to Jackson to say, “Save me.”

Jackson smiles, the bastard, giving me a thumbs-up. “You’ll do great!”

I take deep breaths until I get to the stage, then give Jaebum a nervous smile as I climb the few steps to meet him. The music starts immediately. He hands me a microphone, still grinning.

“Do you want to do Michael or Paul?” he asks quickly.

“I-I don’t know.” I wring the microphone in my hands, looking for Jackson in the sea of tables. The lights are so bright that all I see are shapes of things that are probably humans. I can hear him though, screeching his head off.

Jaebum speeds through his speech. “Well, Michael is more belt-y, higher range, but Paul gets a little more time. It might be easier to sing, though.”

“Um, sure,” I say. The prompter in front of us finally displays the lyrics.

Jaebum grins. “Okay, then.” He gestures to the front of the stage. It’s as big as a rug that goes under a couch, which isn’t big at all. “You’re on.” He points to the prompter and the music kicks for my cue.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. The lyrics come out of me naturally, my voice flat and nervous. I wince and try harder. I force myself to picture singing the song in the car with my dad, imagining the notes as little pathways before I step off onto them. Jaebum backs me up on a line, making me open my eyes. He moves to the beat on my left, smiling proudly at me.

Then, he takes over his part, singing straight at me and gesturing with the lyrics. I smile, nerves simmering down a touch. I repeat a word back to him as per the teleprompter’s request, which he grins wide and bright at. He keeps on, high stepping to the beat build-up, and then we “Hoo-oo-oo” into the music break. We dance, him doing a few extra runs before the lyrics start again. The crowd cheers, exhilarating me. Jackson is still the loudest one, which brings a smile to my face. His voice rings back in my ears: _“Just get up there and sing like you do in the shower.”_

So I take a deep breath and do exactly that. I pick up the power behind my voice and push some confidence into it. I embellish on a few notes, working for bigger applause.

When Jaebum starts his part, his brows are high, eyes wide and surprised. I chuckle, then sing a word back to him. He doesn’t do the stomping thing again when the track builds up.

“Whoa,” he says in the music break. “How were you hiding this from me?”

“I wasn’t!” We laugh.

“Well, here, try this.” He hits a few notes up and down.

I imitate him, closing my eyes to imagine the footpath of it. When I open them, he laughs and claps his hands. “There we go!”

I smile and belt the next line to the patrons and he does the same after me. Then, we face each other for the unison line we have together. He woops once it’s done. We trade lines again, all over the track like it’s ours, dancing around each other. We “Hoo-oo-oo” for the final time, then he shouts and squeezes my arm.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” He takes my hand and spins me around, doing a vocal run before the song fades out. I do one back to him.

What follows is a moderate amount of applause, or at least would be if Jackson didn’t sound like a banshee that only knew how to say my name. We take a bow, then Jaebum grabs our microphones and returns them to the KJ.

Jaebum takes my hand and leads me down the few steps. “You did so, so good,” he says. “ _So_ good.”

“Only because you were there with me,” I say, for the sake of flirtation. Once we’re deeper into this relationship, he’ll eventually begin to understand that _everything_ I do well at is because Jackson encourages me to do it.

“Oh my God!” Jackson is standing from his seat, still clapping. “Jinyoung!” He applauds and shouts until we’re a table away, then he rockets towards us and envelopes me in the tightest hug I’ve ever received, all the while squealing in my ear, “I _told_ you that you could sing! I _told_ you!” He releases me from his embrace only to squish my face between his hands. “Oh, I’m so proud!” he proclaims, then shouts a few terms of endearment in Cantonese.

I shove him away, laughing. “Jesus, you’re going to suffocate me.”

“I don’t care!” He hugs me with one arm, squeezing me just as tightly. “You did so well! I knew you could do it.”

I pat his hand, then push his arm off my shoulders. “Thank you.” I lead him back to sit down. Bambam suppresses laughter, hides it behind his phone, but still congratulates us on a job well done. Jaebum doesn’t sit. I pull out the chair for him. He shakes his head.

“Who, uh, wants drinks?” he asks. Bambam immediately raises his hand.

“I’ll take a Coke,” I say, eyes flitting up and down him, searching for a reason why he’s acting like that.

“Uh, I could go for one, I guess,” Jackson says, just as confused as I am.

“Why don’t you come with me,” Jaebum says, waving Jackson to come with him. “I wanna make sure I get your drink right.”

“I...” Jackson glances around the table. “I’m okay with whatever you’re having.”

“Just come on,” Jaebum insists. “You wanna try the specialties, right?”

Jackson looks between Jaebum and me and back before standing. “Sure...”

I watch them leave, Jaebum leading them to the bar. Bambam glances between me and them with only his eyes, chin pulled in enough to show a second chin, even on his thin face.

“Okay...,” he says, then continues to type away. “That was weird.”

I roll my eyes, turning to watch them. At the corner of the bar, Jaebum waves over the bartender, who obliges with a menu. Jaebum then leans over it and motions for Jackson to join him. He’s hesitant. Jaebum’s posture is relaxed and confident as he speaks, but when he turns his head, his jaw is tilted out to the side and forward, eyes narrowed. Jackson whips his head to face him at whatever he says, but I can’t see his expression. His shoulders are squared up, though, and his head cocks sideways, exactly like it did on the subway. What is Jaebum making him get salty about? Jaebum takes a deep breath, about to say something that looks mean, but Jackson speaks before he gets a chance to. His shoulders slump as he adds on to it, but none of the defensive nature around Jaebum fades. He only grows stiffer, meaner looking. He says something that looks like it has my name in it, and Jackson nods. They stand in silence for a minute, and when Jackson walks away, I decide that I’ve had enough waiting. I push through the crowd to the bar.

“What was that about?” I ask.

Jaebum's eyebrows lift for a second when he recognizes me, then his face neutralizes back out. “Nothing,” he says. He tries to walk me away from the bar. “Go back to the table. I’m about to order the drinks.”

I grab his arm, the oil on it near-sticky. “Where did Jackson go?”

Jaebum shrugs. “Bathroom.” I don’t let go of his arm when he tries to walk away again. He exhales. “Seriously. I asked him about his drink and then he went to take a piss.”

I stare at him for a moment more, then let him go. “I don’t like when things are kept from me.”

He holds his hand up defensively. “I’m not. _I_ am not.”

“Okay,” I say. “Fine. But I know you didn’t talk about nothing over here. If you pull _any_ shit like this ever again, we're done. Jackson is my friend. You don’t get to treat him in any way except with the respect he deserves. Okay?”

“Okay!” he says. “Jesus, okay. I didn’t know you'd get so pissed. Sorry.”

I turn away and head back to the table, glancing back once. He doesn’t share the gaze.

“Did you get any answers?” Bambam asks, eyes glued to his phone.

“No,” I say. “He said they just talked, but...” I shake my head, wondering if I should go after Jackson.

“Look, JB gets like this when he’s into someone.” Bambam pauses to take a selfie, then continues to type and talk. “Take it as a compliment.”

I shake my head, gaze on the table, wondering if it’s really a good thing. Usually, I’d think it is, after all, jealousy is a strong sign that he’s into me, but... The fact that he pulled my best friend aside--and lied about what they talked about--rubs me the wrong way.

Bambam sighs next to me, sets his phone down, and sips his beer. The second of silence that ensues is apparently too much for him, making him ask, “So, what’s Jackson _like_?” He taps his fingers on his phone case. “Just wanna know if JB’s wasting my time or not with this blind date.” He laughs.

I smile, appreciative of his attempt to keep conversation light. “Jackson...,” I say. “He’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet. Really. Great sense of humor, too. And he’s probably one of the most considerate, honest men I’ve ever met. He goes out of his way to do good for the people around him. Like--okay, here’s one of my favorite stories about him:

“There was this one Valentine’s Day back when I worked at Build-A-Bear, before I worked with Jaebum. Our only customers had been one couple and few guys making bears for their girlfriends. It made me feel so bad--I used to get insufferably sad when I wasn’t dating on Valentine’s--and, to rub it all in, my coworker wouldn’t shut up about wanting to see her boyfriend, but I was so bitter that I didn’t let her go. Then a family came in and shopped, a mom and two kids, my coworker complaing the entire time, even when they were checking out. The mom made small talk about the boyfriend, and then the older of the two, the boy, asked me, ‘Do you not have a girlfriend?’

“I politely shook my head and said, ‘No.’ But then the younger one, a little-bitty girl asked, ’Do you have a _boyfriend_?’

“I was speechless for a second, and so was her mother out of embarrassment, I think, and then... In comes this fine man, suit and tie, the biggest bouquet in his hands and bigger smile on his face.” I imitate Jackson’s old, thicker accent, “ _‘Jinyoung! Happy Valentine’s Day! Am I early for lunch?’_ ” I shake my head. “Jackson came all the way to the mall to give me flowers, because he knew how lonely I got on Valentine’s.” I lean back in my chair, arms folded. “Katherine _wished_ that was her boyfriend.”  
  
“Aw,” Bambam said, bottom lip out. “That was sweet of him.” He nods. “But I meant, like, is he good in bed? Cause I can’t date a guy if he can’t suck dick, you know?” He laughs.  
  
I scoff, eyebrows lifting with it. “Well, how would I know that?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he says. “Don’t best friends fuck sometimes? Or like, what have his exes said?” He leans closer, grinning in a way that annoys me. “Does he get noise complaints when he brings someone home?”  
  
I squint at him, lips sealed. “No, we haven’t fucked before, and no, we don’t get noise complaints.”  
  
He sips his beer, shoulders high. “My bad,” he says, but isn’t apologetic in the slightest.  
  
Before I have a chance to get a nasty comment out, Jackson’s phone buzzes on the table. I glance at it out of habit.  
  
**Marky Mark** 9:34  
  
I need you in Paris, man. Talk to Jinyoung already.  
  
I stare at it until it fades back out, wondering a million times what it means. Paris, New York? Paris, Texas? _Paris, France?_ Confusion and surprise boil over into betrayal and anger. Why the hell would Jackson keep something from me, be so reluctant to share it that Mark is begging him to tell me? Before I know I’m doing it, I grab his phone and unlock it. The passcode is easy, the same pattern he’s used ever since he got a new phone, and then, his texts are open like a bright, forbidden book. Bambam asks what I’m doing, but I ignore him. I scroll up, looking for context. As I read, it dawns on me why he’s been so jumpy with his phone. The first, I can tell, is the one he got when we were on the subway, and the next few I skim seem to just be high texts from Mark, but all hinting at something Jackson needs to answer. But the last few lines reveal what I’ve been looking for, so immense that leaves me stunned:

 

**Marky Mark**

I need an answer  
tonight, man. Jay is  
seriously all over my ass  
about you not even  
checking out the place

If it's not a yes by 11, the  
ticket gets cancelled

You don't get it, Mark! I  
can't just leave

Why not?? Its the best  
job opp of your life, in  
the city every chef  
dreams of, and a trip to  
France out of someone  
else's pocket!

I know you're right... but  
I just hate the idea of  
leaving for that long.  
And I hate the idea of  
not coming back.

Just go for the two  
weeks. It'll do you some  
good to be away for a  
minute.

I know you do. But this  
is once in a fucking  
lifetime. Jinyoung will  
tell you the same  
goddamn thing.

 

I need you in Paris, man.  
Talk to JInyoung  
already.

 

“Jackson got a job offer in France?” I reread a few of the texts, heartbeat thickening.  
  
“Damn,” Bambam says. “Now I really won’t try to fuck him.”  
  
I look around for him, twisting to face the doors to the restrooms. As soon as I spot the red dot of his Japanese flag bandana bobbing through the crowd, I get up. My heartbeat makes it up to my ears as I weave through people, stomach feeling like it disappears at the same time it gains twenty pounds. I reach Jackson and pull on his sleeve, drag him away from the noise.  
  
Immediately, he asks, “What’s wrong?” gripping my arm at the elbow. “Do we need to leave?”  
  
“No,” I say. “No, just...” I exhale and meet his gaze. “When were you going to tell me about Paris?” I shake his phone in my hand.  
  
His eyebrows furrow and his lips part and then his expression hardens. “Did Mark text you? Because that was really out of line.”  
  
“No,” I say. “You left for phone on the table, he texted you and... I just saw.” I shake my head just slightly, trying to understand, forehead wrinkling. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you not told me?”  
  
Jackson shakes his head, eyes down. “A week and a half ago, Mark texted me. Someone we went to school with is starting up a new restaurant in Paris. When he asked Mark to go back, he mentioned me because the guy wants Asian-style food, too.” He keeps shaking his head, looking at our shoes. “There’s so much more than a job to think about here. It’s a different country, a different culture. I’m about to start taking classes to become a citizen and-and _this_ happens.” He groans and rubs his face. “And to be honest, I didn’t want to know how you would react when I told you. Because I knew no matter what you said, it would make me not want to go even more.”  
  
I scoff. “Jackson.” I grip the front of his shirt, tug on it, pull him to my face so that he’ll look at me. “ _Take the trip._ ”  
  
His hands are gentle on my upper arms. “Even you don’t get it. Going to Paris is--” His voice closes up on him. “It’s the first step to saying goodbye to New York. It’s the first step to leaving, to-to leaving...” His eyes water.  
  
I lick my lips. “To leaving me?” I huff. “Fuck me,” I say. “Fuck New York, too. Fuck anything that you think is stopping you.” I push him, let go of his uniform, and point at him. “And that includes you.”  
  
His eyes are big and troubled and sad, already missing me. “Go with me,” Jackson offers, a last resort. “It’ll be like a little vacation. I'll pay part of your ticket, we'll share a hotel room...”  
  
I shake my head at the floor. “No, I have...” I glance at him before I turn my head back towards the table, where Jaebum is sitting back down near-patiently. His fingers tap away on a fresh beer bottle, pretending like he’s not been watching us. I think about what Mark said in the texts about Jackson needing to be away for a while, and about how jealous Jaebum is acting. Maybe we do need to separate a bit. “...Work.” When I look back at Jackson, he understands. He knows that I mean what I say, but he also knows the other half of it, the B-side of nearly everything I say. I don’t want to hurt him, but it’s what happens anyway. He covers anything else he might feel with a carefree smile and a nod of acceptance, even his eyes acting. It doesn’t surprise me anymore to know these things about him, that he knows the same about me. I’m starting to think that maybe we shouldn’t.  
  
“Yeah, I get it.” He pats my arm. “No sweat, that's the term, right?” He brushes out a wrinkle in my sleeve. “No sweat.”  
  
“You’ll still go, though, right?” I ask, even though I should say ‘I’m sorry.’ Jackson dips his head. He knows what I mean, he can hear what I can’t bring myself to say. “You’re going?”  
  
Jackson shakes his head and lifts it. His lips are pulled up, not quite a smile, but something meant to look like it. “I don’t know. I...” He runs his fingers through his hair and locks them at the back of his neck. His eyes are everywhere but me. “I don’t know.”  
  
I hold his phone out. “Text Mark back.” He doesn’t move for a second, so I grab his arm and push the phone into his hand. “Tell him you’re going.”  
  
He meets my gaze. “Don’t you want me to stay?” he asks. “Will you miss me?”  
  
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, then pull him into a tight hug. “Dumbass,” I say, but what I mean is, ‘Of course I do. I love you.’  
  
Jackson understands, but it sounds like it hurts him so much to. “I love you, too, asshole. I just wish we meant it the same way.”  
  
I step out of his arms, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”  
  
He only shakes his head, hiding his expression under a put-on smile. “Forget it.” He pushes my hand off him and nudges me back to the table with a nod of his head. “Get back to your boyfriend. I have a text to send.”

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the text section: I tried to embed some images, but that didn't work AT ALL, so I had to switch back to plain text. It'll look better on mobile. Also, sorry if you were an early reader, there was probably just a big blank space. My bad.
> 
> For those interested, here are the screencaps on my twitter [x](https://twitter.com/radtoro/status/1018144197776420865)
> 
> Thanks for everything :D


End file.
